Remember me telling you about getting chosen by Geri at a black tie ball hosted by Willow? This is her story.

Willow and I had been good friends for more than a decade before we ended up bumping uglies. When Harry met Sally looked at whether there can be such a thing as a truly platonic relationship between members of the opposite sex, and I genuinely thought that’s what Willow and I had. We went mountaineering together, got drunk together, spent New Year’s Eves together (including the potentially romantic Y2k), visited each other’s families, went on holiday together, and never once was there any hint of anything sexual. When her mother died of cancer, I dropped everything and helped her through the funeral. The evening after her father’s funeral, just a month later, she fell asleep in my arms on the sofa. And all through this we were just friends. Good friends.

My virginity was discarded on a one night stand, and althought there have been two other women I’ve only fucked twice (Sita and Tania), and one I have only slept with once (Marilyn), technically I have only since had one other one night stand. A flat mate (who was drop dead gorgeous, and cool, and sexy and who I’d have fucked in a second, had she not been dating the sleaze bag that was also our flatmate and landlord) had come to the end of her work visa and was returning to New Zealand. Anyone who’s spent any time in West London will know that where there’s one Kiwi, no only are there are 30 others, there will also be a party. And it was at the farewell party that I notched up the next bedpost notch.

I’ve had a dozen sexual partners, although I think I’m quite proud of the fact that I didn’t know that until I’d written down all their names and then counted them. I dare say many of you have had far more, and some of you may well have had far fewer. So I feel no embarrassment at the number. Continue reading →

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